


Foolish Heroics

by AyalaAtreides



Category: Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, F/M, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyalaAtreides/pseuds/AyalaAtreides
Summary: It's been three years since Teppelin fell, and Viral has spent those three years wandering aimlessly through the wastelands. Immortal, tireless, unkillable, and a soldier without an army, Viral figures he's going to be sulking in the desert for a very long time. And then life goes and gets complicated. A power-crazed tyrant is out to eliminate all Beastmen, and a human is determined to befriend him... Viral's not sure which is worse. Viral/OC eventually.(Takes place during the timeskip, will be canon-compliant for the post-skip)





	1. What The Hell Am I Here For?!

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOOOOOO! I started this fic years and years ago on FFnet, and then crap got real IRL and fic went on the backburner for a while. I decided it's time to dust this story off, reboot it, and do it properly. So let's roll!

**Prologue: What The Hell Am I Here For?!**

The stars gleamed overhead, cold and impossibly distant. The night was eerily still, except for the creak and groan of twisted metal and shattered concrete settling. The crumbled shapes of buildings and massive beams of metal reached up like broken hands to block out patches of stars. It made a strange picture: the peaceful night and the remnants of a fierce battle.

Viral had never wondered about his purpose in living. He was a soldier. Lordgenome had created him to fight, and he was damn good at it. He had served the Spiral King faithfully and with great pride. In his years of service, he'd risen to the rank of Commander. But now there was no Spiral King. There was no Human Eradication Army. Not anymore.

How much time had passed? There was no way of knowing. He could barely keep his eyes focused, much less think about time. His mind was too hazy for that. His entire body felt heavy and numbed, and then there was something else, slicing through the fog, something sharp and burning and much more familiar…

Ah yes, it was pain.

Enkidudu lay on its back, cockpit hatch open- Viral hadn't thought to close it as the Ganmen had plunged from Teppelin's crumbling heights into the chaos below. Unfortunate, given all the rubble and shrapnel that had rained upon the cockpit as the great towers of Teppelin had come down. With no small effort, Viral lifted one clawed hand and brought it gingerly down till it brushed the thin, jagged spar of metal that had speared him right through the stomach. Pain exploded along his nerves at the faint touch and he gritted his teeth to keep quiet. Yeah, _that_ was especially unfortunate.

He clenched his fists so hard that his claws bit into the palms of his hands. There was nothing for it; he damned well couldn't stay here, but he wasn't going anywhere until that spar came out. He was pinned to the pilot's seat, like an insect specimen. His hands felt as heavy as stone as he lifted them up and wrapped his oversized fingers around the cold, blood-spattered metal. This was going to hurt tremendously, to make a disgusting understatement.

A few seconds later, it was done. Viral stared up at the cold stars, panting unevenly, skin clammy with sweat as the searing pain slowly subsided. Already he could feel the wound closing, an unpleasant burning itch as his skin and insides knitted back together.

"So this is immortality, huh? Still hurts like hell," Viral growled bitterly.

Viral lay there under the stars, sheltered within the shattered cockpit of Enkidudu, and he waited for the grief, for the anger… but what he actually felt was a heavy, deadening numbness. It burdened his whole body like a metal shell and wrapped around his heart like a shroud. He just felt empty.

He knew he couldn't stay put. The damned naked apes would doubtlessly come to pick over the wreckage. Enkidudu was in no state for a fight; if the scavengers did come to call, he'd be an easy target like this. The humans had taken everything else from him, he'd be damned if they'd take his Ganmen too.

And even if the naked apes didn't come to scavenge, the thought of lingering there chilled him to the bone. Willing himself to move, he drew himself up from the pilot's seat and stood on frustratingly weak and shaky legs. Clambering out of the cockpit, he climbed up onto Enkidudu's hull and took stock of the situation.

Getting the Ganmen out from under the wreckage would take some doing, but with any luck, Enkidudu would rise once more. Lifting his gaze, he contemplated the destruction spread out before him—the remnants of the empire he'd known his entire life. It was nothing now—just warped metal and shattered glass. And beneath it, jumbled in with the rest of the refuse… the bodies of countless Beastmen soldiers. So many generations of Beastmen had fought and died and strived to protect this empire, to serve the king who had given life to them. They had fought for Teppelin for all that time, and now they lay entombed beneath its ruins. The sudden thought sent a cold rush down his spine and raised his hackles.

"I'm standing in a graveyard, aren't I?" he murmured to himself. Coldness gripped him, and he told himself stiffly, "Even more of a reason to get out."

What place did an immortal have in a graveyard, anyway? It was almost a mockery of the natural life cycle—a mockery of the Beastmen whose corpses now filled the ruins, their lives sacrificed for the Spiral King and all of his secrets… secrets that now rested with Viral. The coldness grew around him and he bared his teeth in a snarl.

He gave it all one last look; he took one final account of what had been his whole existence. And then he set to work, clearing away as much of the debris pinning his Ganmen as he could manage. At last, he dropped back into the cockpit and laid back on the seat, slipping his hands into the control handles. At his practiced touch, the mecha's display screens lit up, their vibrant colors shot through with cracks and gaping, dark holes.

"Good. You're not dead, either," Viral murmured. He gently pulled the handles back. The Ganmen shuddered beneath him, but didn't stir from its place on the ground. "It's up to you now, Enkidudu," he growled, pulling the left handle back. "I did all I could on my own."

As he thrust the handles upward, the Ganmen shuddered and its mechanisms screeched in protest.

"Come on!" Viral snarled. "I know you can damn well do this!" He pushed the handles harder still and at last, the Ganmen stirred, the remaining debris shifting around it.

"Get up, Enkidudu," he growled to the Ganmen. He pulled the control handles up again and the Ganmen rocked forward, rising slowly. Its legs groaned under the weight of its body as it threw off the remaining wreckage and clambered upright, standing tall amid Teppelin's remains. The Ganmen swayed dangerously but Viral steadied it with a skilled hand. He wouldn't be much of a pilot if he couldn't handle a damaged Ganmen.

It was time to leave. Picking a random direction, he turned his Ganmen south. He guided Enkidudu to the edge of the battlefield: behind him, the only life he'd ever known; ahead, the vast wasteland. Viral pushed the control handles forward and set out from the ruins of Teppelin.

He did not look back.

* * *

A few days later, he arrived at the nearest outpost. Enkidudu needed repairs from... _that_ _night_. Pushing the memories from his mind, he guided his Ganmen to the hangar bay after the tower guards cleared him for entry. As soon as he set foot on the ground, he found himself swarmed by anxious Beastmen, crowding around him with a hail of questions.

One of them finally pushed to the front and breathlessly exclaimed, "Viral! You're Commander Viral, right?! Did you come here from the Capital? What's going on? There's been no communications for days-"

"There is no Capital anymore," Viral said sharply. The Beastman gaped at him.

"Wh-what? C'mon, what does that mean?" The Beastman let out a nervous chuckle. "N-no Capital anymore...?"

"Teppelin..." The words caught in Viral's throat suddenly. Saying it aloud felt... wrong, somehow. As if saying it would make it real, as if there were still some way to go back, if only no one said it aloud. "Teppelin... has fallen. The Spiral King is dead."

A hush fell over the crowd- and then chaos erupted. The crowd pressed in even closer around him, all shouting at once. Viral clenched his teeth as the tumult assaulted his ears.

"What do you mean, dead?!" someone shouted. "Lordgenome has lived for a thousand years, who could have killed him?!"

"The same ones that killed the generals," Viral said sharply.

"Those humans? B-but, Lordgenome, he was- the generals were great warriors, but they were still Beastmen like us," another protested. "But, Lordgenome, he wasn't like us... he..."

"He's dead," Viral said shortly. With that, he shouldered his way through the crowd. Enkidudu needed repairs, but first: his throat was parched and he'd have killed for a glass of water.

Viral kept to himself while he worked on Enkidudu's repairs; he dealt with the mechanics in the hangar bay when necessary, but other than that, he stayed focused on the work at hand. The alternative was socializing amongst the panicked and aimless former soldiers, and they asked too many painful questions- questions that not even Viral could properly answer. Questions he didn't want to answer.

The secrets that he'd learned festered within him. Spiral power... how could he even begin to explain it to the others? How could he tell them that the Spiral King had doomed their entire race from the start, that Lordgenome had created every last one of them to be deficient and incomplete? How could he tell them that Beastman superiority and human inferiority was a myth?

So, he kept to himself, he kept his head down, and he worked on his Ganmen.

When the repairs were done, he saw no point in hanging around. He was loading supplies into Enkidudu's cargo compartments- as if this were an ordinary mission. As if there was anything to come back to. One of the technicians who'd assisted him with the repairs, a wolf female, stood on the scaffolding outside the cockpit and ran one last diagnostic on Enkidudu's systems.

"Good to go, Commander," said the technician. Then she hesitated, pointed ears drooping slightly, and added, "Guess there's not much point to those titles anymore, huh?"

Viral only grunted in response. He didn't want to think about it. "Thank you for your assistance," he said as he slid into the cockpit.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. Turning her head, she stared out through the hangar doors, eyes fixed on the bright expanse of gleaming sand beyond. "What do you think will happen now?"

"Hell if I know," Viral muttered. Reminding himself of his manners, he added, "Good luck."

"Yeah, you too," the wolf said distractedly. And with that, he walked his Ganmen through the doors of the outpost's hangar and out into the sunlight.

After some time had rolled by, he paused and turned Enkidudu back for just a moment. The outpost had nearly vanished from sight already; it was little more than a black lump far behind him. And ahead of him, there was… nothing. Just the vast, sprawling, rocky emptiness of the desert wastelands, with some dark mountains rising high on the horizon.

He'd been on his own in the wasteland before, of course—but never like this. Never without orders. He had no directive, and there would be none coming. He'd have to make his own directives from now on. His upper lip curled back and he scoffed under his breath. There was nothing for it; he shoved the control handles forward and guided Enkidudu out into the wastelands.

The days crawled by in agonizing boredom. One week passed, then another, then another. Funny how time went by like that, although not fast enough for his liking. With literally nothing to keep him busy, Viral did whatever he could to piss the hours away… and to stop himself from thinking about that night, the final hours of Teppelin. The final hours of his entire life's purpose.

Sometimes he'd switch on Enkidudu's scanners and sweep for life forms—human, Beastman, or otherwise. Sometimes he'd study the digital maps of whatever barren stretch of rocks he found himself trekking across. Sometimes, to keep his fighting skills sharp, he'd practice his Ganmen combat expertise on the terrain—which really just meant he'd stomp the hell out of whatever rocks and plants were around. Not that they put up much of a challenge.

Hunting became a welcome break in the monotony, and he'd put as much energy and skill into it as he possibly could. He knew he'd hit a low point when he spent so long stalking a grape-hippo that the sun set and the damn thing went to sleep, paying him absolutely no mind whatsoever. He hadn't even bothered to kill it at that point.

And on the subject of sleeping: he just didn't. There was no need, and when he did, all he got from it was swarms of hideously guilt-laden dreams—he'd see himself back at Teppelin, or at Adiane's side, or at Thymilph's, failing at all times to do his duty and protect them. Sometimes he'd picture the day that he'd disobeyed Cytomander, the very moment that had led him to question Lordgenome and bring this immortal curse down upon himself. Only it was even worse in the dreams, of course. Everything was off-balance and ten times more appalling than it had been in reality. So why bother with sleep?

More days, more weeks crawled past. His food supplies were running low, and a new thought came to him: what if he just stopped eating and drinking? What would happen? This "improved" body of his couldn't die, after all. Could he still starve? Could he still suffer dehydration? Granted, hunting was one of the few pastimes he had left, and eating was the sole small pleasure he looked forward to. There was something so satisfying about freshly butchered meat roasted to perfection, and he had precious little satisfaction in this new life of his.

Even so, it'd be an interesting experiment to try and do without for a while. At the very least, it would be a break in routine, such as it was. The feelings of hunger and thirst he got now were just remnants of his mortality, surely. He told himself that, much like his mind, his body simply hadn't adjusted to its new reality yet. He would learn to ignore them.

It was easy enough, at first. He pushed the hunger pangs out of his mind, telling himself it was just a memory, nothing more. His body would surely come to recognize the new status quo sooner or later.

Except it didn't.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, he told himself bitterly, weeks later. His body had only gotten weaker with each passing day. Without the energy to keep himself moving and occupied, all he could do was sit there in Enkidudu's cockpit, barely able to pilot and with only his thoughts to distract him. Basically, his experiment in foodless living had turned into a disaster._

"Damn it all," he growled. After a month without food or water, he sat slumped inside the cockpit, dragging Enkidudu along one agonizingly slow step at a time. He knew he wouldn't have any strength at all soon; he had to get himself fed and watered or he'd end up stranded in the middle of nowhere, too weak to move but unable to die.

Of course, just his luck, he'd ended up in a dry, desolate area without the water or vegetation to draw in prey species. The few rodent and lizard species that scampered between the dusty rocks were too quick for him to catch in this state, and too small to be blasted with any of Enkidudu's weapons. It was at the edge of his strength, just as he was wondering how long he'd be stuck out there, that he finally had a break.

He found a tiny stream winding its way out from a jumble of rocks. It was muddy and sluggish, barely a trickle, but he followed it like it was the path to paradise. Eventually it grew, joined by a bigger creek as more and more shrubs grew up around it, and eventually it led him to a pond, and not even the thick algae choking the water's surface could disguise the darting shapes of fish swimming within. He knew he wasn't going to be doing any fishing in his condition, so there was nothing else for it: he powered up Enkidudu's right shoulder turret and blasted the pond. With an earth-shaking boom, steam sprayed up like a geyser, and boiling water and a hail of dead fish rained down on the mecha.

It must have taken at least half an hour, but he managed to drag himself down from Enkidudu's cockpit and gather a heaping pile of dead fish. It was a regrettable waste; normally he'd never do something so drastic—but then, these were unusual circumstances.

He devoured five smaller fish raw, forcing himself to endure the cold, slippery meat, and then he had the strength to build a fire. He cooked as many of the fish as he could fit over the fire, mentally deriding himself for letting it get to this point. Still, he hadn't risen to the rank of Commander by repeating foolish mistakes. Lesson learned.

Three months passed. Left to their own devices, the Beastmen had reluctantly begun to carve out lives for themselves beyond the military. Some had set up their new homes in the old army outposts; he'd even heard rumors that some were eking out a living on the edges of the Teppelin ruins. But many had set up new settlements, small but quick-growing villages that peppered the deserts, mixed in among the ever-increasing numbers of human towns.

He visited these settlements for supplies (arrows and ammunition, mostly), but he never stayed for long. Once, half a month ago, he'd remained in a Beastman village for two weeks. That was the longest he'd stayed put in any one spot since Teppelin's defeat. He always ended up leaving after a day or two; and now, sitting in the tavern of another such village, he remembered why and was beginning to think that this excursion would end the same way.

He kept his head down, mostly, his eyes on the mug of ale clenched in his hands—but his ears were wide open, listening carefully.

"Those damned naked apes!" slurred an extremely drunk anteater. The Beastman slumped against the bar next to Viral. With one hairy hand, he gripped a battered tin mug of ale that he dipped his long snout into and slurped from loudly; with the other, he clutched at Viral's shoulder while he ranted woefully at him. "We was the… the greatest! Our unit was the greatest… ever! No… no de—no def… We never lost not once! Then those ugly naked apes stole—they stole from us! They…what'd they steal? The thing, what's the thing…the big things?"

"Ganmen. They stole Ganmen from us," Viral muttered bitterly, taking a swig of his own ale. Drinking, he had to admit, had lost some of its charm. He had never liked to get drunk too often, but now he couldn't even do that properly anymore. His body metabolized the alcohol so quickly that the buzz didn't last very long.

"Yes! Our shiny mechas! They stole our shiny mechas!" The anteater let out a sob and pressed his long-snouted face against Viral's shoulder, sniffling noisily. Viral grimaced and gave the anteater a light push with his knuckles. The weeping Beastman slid off his shoulder and his head plunked down on the dirty, sticky bar.

"Those filthy humans, they never would've had the courage to rise up like that if they hadn't stolen our Ganmen from us! To think they'd attack us with our own mechas," snarled a rabbit female, sitting at a table behind Viral. He spared a brief glance at her over his shoulder, seeing her ears twitch in fury. There was a barb of truth to her words that struck deep in his mind and burned there, stirring up memories from those last days of the empire.

She was right—without the Ganmen, the human rebellion never would have made it out of Ritona Village. They'd have been annihilated, just like all the other humans that had found their way to the surface. And to think, he'd been there when it all started. He'd been a witness to the beginning of the empire's downfall. Kamina and Simon… they'd been the first to steal Ganmen. Viral had lost his chance to end the rebellion when he'd failed to destroy them that day; and the worst part was, he'd had no idea what that one failure would lead to.

His fingers clenched around the tin cup. _There were secrets we never knew about them_ , he thought bitterly. Secrets that the Spiral King had deliberately kept from them… His grip on the cup tightened even more, his claws denting the thin metal.

"We… we oughta go and show 'em what happens to apes that mess with Beastmen!" the anteater snarled, thumping his fists on the bar.

"These apes think they're so mighty, after Teppelin," the rabbit scoffed. "It'd be as much as they deserved if we gathered ourselves up and went after them!"

This wasn't the first time he'd heard such talk. However, now, after the defeat, Viral found that his fellow Beastmen were afraid of these damned naked apes. Oh, there was certainly anger, too; in every village, he heard furious words being flung around, bitter cries of foul play and enraged threats of reprisal. There had even been a few disorganized counterattacks, or so he'd heard. But only a few.

Viral pressed his free hand flat against the bar, his clawtips digging into the grimy wood. _Futile… it always was,_ he thought, his gut churning with the frustration and rage that had simmered in him for months. Before, when the humans had been contained in their underground dens, it had been easy to believe that Beastmen were superior, and humans a weak imitation. Back then, unarmed and scared, the few humans who came to the surface hadn't stood a chance. But now...

"I heard they're building a city right on top of the ruins. We should strike now, while their attention is on rebuilding!" the rabbit was saying.

Viral flexed his claws, gouging deep into the top of the bar. "So do it, then!" He could feel the eyes of the other Beastmen latch onto him at his growled outburst.

"What's that?" snapped the rabbit.

"If the humans piss you off so much, then go strike back at them," Viral said, not even bothering to turn around. "Go ahead and do it, you'll be cut down before you even put a scratch on Gurren Lagann."

"How dare you!" exclaimed a crow, jumping up from a table behind the rabbit. "Are you on their side, huh?!" The bird Beastman clacked its beak furiously at him.

"Even if we're killed, isn't it worth it? Isn't it right for us to risk our lives to avenge our leader—the man who gave us life?!" the rabbit demanded.

"Oh? You're really so eager to die pointlessly, just like the rest?" he shot back, his upper lip curling to show teeth.

"Pointlessly?!" The rabbit eyed him coldly for a moment before she spoke again. "I know who you are. You're former Commander Viral, isn't that right?"

"Hm." Viral drained the last of his drink and set the cup down firmly.

"Weren't you at the battle of Teppelin? A gorilla in the east told me you were there," she said, her tone heavy with suspicion.

He stared at her through slitted eyes before he replied. "There were many Beastmen at Teppelin."

"And most of them died. The battle of Teppelin was a massacre, that's what I heard." Her eyes narrowed. "So few survivors… how is it that you were one of them, hmm? Someone like you, who ranked so highly? I heard you were there when Lordgenome fell. How is it that you survived when so many didn't?"

"I won't let you sit there and talk about something you don't understand!" Viral hissed. "You don't even have any idea what they died for!"

"They died for their King!" the rabbit shouted. "You couldn't even do that much, like a proper soldier should!"

Viral snarled and leaped to his feet, blood pounding with rage, reaching back for his cleaver—only to find himself grasping empty air. Ah, of course—he'd left it with Enkidudu. He'd gotten out of the habit of carrying it, these days. What was the point, when he had no need to defend his life anymore?

The rabbit had sprung up from her seat, too. In the dim light, her bared claws glinted from the white fur of her paws.

"Get out of here, traitor," she hissed, "Before I rip your eyes out and feed them to you! Mangy cat!"

"Tch!" He straightened his back, lifting his chin to glare at her. Pathetic pipsqueaks like this weren't worth his time. Without another word, he tossed some coins on the counter to pay for his drink and strode out into the blazing sunlight.

He could feel their cold, angry stares knifing into his back.

As he stalked back to Enkidudu, the rabbit's words echoed in his mind. _You couldn't even do that much, like a proper soldier should!_ She was right… he'd been denied the chance to die for his King—denied it by the very man he'd fought to protect, the man who had given him life. The man who had given all of them life… the man who had designed those lives to be incomplete, to be inferior… that was the man he'd been unable to die for.

A year passed. The solitude was starting to grate on his nerves. Even in the army, his solitary forays into the field had always ended with his eventual return to his unit, or to Teppelin. He began venturing into Beastman settlements again. Mostly, these forays ended in fights. That was all right; Viral missed fighting. It had been too long since he'd faced a worthy opponent. Tempers ran high in these settlements, and Viral's failures against the so-called Dai-Gurren Brigade had become well known.

It was after another six months that he first approached a human settlement. He had been deep in the midst of the southern desert wastelands for a month, and his hunting choices had dwindled from "limited" to "almost nonexistent". He'd sustained himself mostly with bony little lizards—and the last of those had been a week ago. His arrows were gone, too, which sure as hell didn't help.

Of course, he'd already learned from experience what would happen if he ran out of food; he had no intention of repeating that mistake. He knew that if he didn't find some food soon, he wound run out of strength entirely.

And unfortunately for him, the nearest village happened to be full of naked apes. Still, if he wanted to keep eating, he'd have to stifle his pride and deal with them. His hands were already beginning to shake with hunger.

He left Enkidudu about half a mile outside of town; it wouldn't do to cause a panic before he'd even arrived. With a tan scarf wound around his head to disguise himself, he walked in on foot. He found himself getting odd stares from the humans passing by around him. His face may have been covered, but his hands weren't and they were quite noticeable. Still, no one was attacking him yet, and that was always far easier than the alternative; fighting humans had lost its appeal.

He made his way through the town till he reached a store with a crude image of a slab of meat painted on its rough, wooden sign. Arching his eyebrow, he thought to himself that it was at least a very direct way of advertising the butcher's wares. That certainly made things easier for him; he didn't relish the thought of staying here any longer than needed. He pushed through the swinging door, just as hastily constructed as the sign, and into the interior of the shop.

His nose twitched as the cooled air inside hit his face through the gap in his scarf. Sure enough, he heard the distinct whir of electric fans. These new cooling gadgets that the humans had started using always seemed to stir up every speck of dust in whatever space they were implemented. For a moment, he thought longingly of the much quieter and more refined cooling systems of Teppelin and the Beastmen military bases. Still, the incessantly blowing air couldn't cover the enticing smell of fresh meat; it filled his nostrils and made his mouth water, making the edge of his hunger even sharper.

An old woman looked up at him from behind the counter as he entered; the woman's thin, white eyebrows hitched upward in surprise for a moment, and then her leathery face relaxed into an easy smile.

"Well, well! A Beastman visitor, now there's a rare sight in this town," she remarked.

Viral paused and inclined his head slightly, a bit taken aback. The woman's words were frank but her tone wasn't unfriendly. Regardless, he had business here, so he'd put it aside and get what he needed. He was too hungry to deal with human oddness.

"I'd think you humans would be used to surprises by now," he commented dryly.

"That's just what makes things surprising, isn't it?" the butcher asked, chuckling. "If we get used to them, they're not surprises anymore."

"Hm," he muttered, still a bit off-guard. "Tell me, butcher, what is the freshest cut of meat you have right now?"

"Ah! Well, just this morning we received a grape-hippo that one of the hunters in this village caught. He went all the way out beyond the wastelands to get it, too." the butcher said, tapping her finger alongside her nose knowingly. His stomach rumbled at the thought of all that tender grape-hippo meat. "How much do you want?"

Viral slung his knapsack down from his shoulder and hurriedly dug a couple coins out from a side pouch—the last of his money. "How much will this pay for?"

"Hmm…" The butcher took the coins and examined them, then handed them back with a sad shake of her head. "I'm sorry. Coins aren't much use to us here. We trade for what we need."

"Ah," he muttered. _Damn!_ he thought bitterly. How the hell was he going to buy food here when he had nothing to trade for? Frowning, he pocketed the coins and dipped his chin to the old woman. "Then, I'll leave you to tend to your shop. I'm sorry to have wasted your time," he said stiffly. He turned to walk away, but before he could get more than three paces towards the door, the old woman piped up again.

"Now, now, don't go off in such a hurry," the butcher said, her tone lightly chiding.

"Hnh?" Viral paused and glanced back at her, his eyebrows furrowing.

She studied the countertop for a moment, tapping her chin. "I won't be losing much if I spare a bit," she said, as if to herself. _Spare a bit?_ Viral thought, his frown deepening in confusion. She considered for another moment, and then smiled. "Ah, that's right, that's right. Maybe some of those raccoon-birds… Wait there for a moment, please." She ducked into the back room.

He lifted his chin, trying to steal a peek behind the curtain to see what the hell this human was up to, without any luck. The butcher returned to the counter a few moments later, carrying a thick bundle wrapped in heavy parchment. Smiling, the old woman stretched out her arm to hand it to Viral. He stared at it, keeping very still as he tried to figure out the human's aims.

"Don't stand there with that sour look!" she told him. There was a slight reprimand in her tone, as though he were a sullen child sulking for no reason. He cocked his head at her, puzzled and utterly at a loss.

"What are you…" Viral started, bewildered.

"Take this," she said.

"What?" he said under his breath, eying the bundle warily. What kind of trick was this?

"Go ahead, take it. It's not likely to sell today, anyway," the butcher encouraged.

He stared at the human, not moving an inch but holding himself at the ready nonetheless.

"You'd give this to me, a Beastman? A former soldier wandering into your town?" he asked dubiously.

The butcher waved her hand casually. "The war is over, isn't it? In this place, we're all able to live as we want and do what we want. To have even that much freedom, after all those years underground, is all that anyone in our village ever wanted. We don't have any further quarrel with the Beastmen. Not us, not here, anyway," the old woman said simply.

 _Easy words coming from the mouth of the victors,_ Viral thought sourly. Still, the gentle smile on her face… it looked alarmingly genuine. He looked down at the parchment bundle.

Even from a few paces away, he could catch the scent of the meat. He quickly figured out why she was willing to give it away; with his sharp nose, determining the freshness of meat was an easy task. The bundle she was handed him still smelled edible, but it certainly wouldn't be in another couple of days. He guessed it would probably go to waste if she didn't get rid of it soon. He frowned at the parchment bundle.

"Humans around here… might start expecting handouts, if they hear you're giving meat away to strangers," he pointed out cagily.

"If that's the reputation I get, then that's not such a terrible thing," the butcher replied, shrugging. "Just go ahead and take it. If I can be honest, you look like you could use it," she added, not unkindly.

"W-what?" he sputtered, gaping at her.

"I hate to see anyone go hungry," she said softly. "I had enough of that in my younger days, in the darkness underground. Simon the Digger fought so hard to let all of us live how we want in the sunlight. I think he meant for everyone to have that kind of a life, even you Beastmen. If we're all free to live as we want now, then this is the kind of person I want to be."

The mention of Simon stung his pride a little, but something in her words struck a chord within him. Still feeling utterly at a loss, he looked down at the bundle again and back up at the butcher. Slowly, he crept back over to the counter and raised his hand, grasping the bundle and tugging it from her unresisting fingers.

"The common thing to say now would be 'thank you'," the butcher prompted, half-smiling. Viral caught himself and shook off his befuddlement. Soldiers of Teppelin were trained to have good manners, after all.

"Th… thank you," he said, his voice low. "I… appreciate this." Quickly, before this situation could get any weirder, he lowered his head in a stiff, jerky bow and hastily took his leave.

Once he was out of there, he headed straight back to Enkidudu. He still needed arrows, but he had nothing to trade and he wasn't about to hold out hope for a repeat of… whatever the hell had just happened inside the butcher's shop. He felt strangely off-balance as he hurried to his mecha, his head spinning. Scrambling up to the cockpit, he stowed the meat away in the cold storage locker and sank onto the pilot's chair, digging his claws into the sides of the seat.

"What the _hell_ was that about?!" he growled, pressing his forehead into the palm of his hand. "That human… she gave me food I couldn't pay for…" Sure, it was meat that was on the verge of spoiling, but it was still a damn weird thing for her to do. Why give anything to a stranger who couldn't even compensate her for it, and a former enemy no less? Deeply perturbed, he fired up Enkidudu and took off southward at a fast clip.

By the following morning, the weirdness of the encounter had subsided a bit. He'd found a thin, muddy little stream trickling its way out from between some rocks, and he was following it, hoping it might lead him to fresher water. And by midday, it did—the much wider river before him plunged over a ledge to a cool, gleaming pond below. He left Enkidudu at the top of the ledge and climbed down to fill his water reserves from the pond. Once that was done, a thought occurred to him and he sniffed at his clothes.

"Tch!" he snorted, wrinkling his nose. He may have been a Beastman, but that didn't mean he enjoyed stinking like an animal. It was time for a bath. Stripping off his clothes, he gave every inch of cloth a good scrubbing before laying them out on the rocks to dry, and then diving into the water.

As he cleaned himself up, his mind went over the previous day's events again, still trying to pinpoint exactly what had happened. The butcher had been… kind. Kindness. That was the word for it, the word that had escaped his memory earlier. She had been… kind to him. He'd seen plenty of human anger, fear, panic, fury… but kindness? That was sure as hell a new one. Humans going out of their way to help one another wasn't anything new, but what reason did a human have to be kind to a Beastman?

And the way she'd spoken to him… it brought up a memory, of a time when he'd run surveillance on a group of humans that had dared to venture to the surface. He'd observed a mother scolding her young boys. With the tech at his disposal, he'd been able to overhear her exact words. Her tone had been very much the same… Now that he thought about it, she'd sent the boys back into the underground village, telling them it was too dangerous. That had been a wise move on her part; he'd been under orders to stop the humans from going any further, and he'd done just that. The boys had been spared by their absence. The memory prickled in his mind, in a way that it never had before.

He pushed the feeling away, but the thought remained with him; the butcher had talked to him in a motherly way. What kind of game was this? Humans were inherently selfish creatures— that was what he and his fellow soldiers had always been taught. And yet, here he was.

"Hnh…" He scowled, and as he did, he caught his own reflection in the water. "Is that really what I look like these days?" he murmured, prodding at his ribs with one clawed fingertip.

After eating so poorly for so long, he was definitely looking scrawnier than usual. Apparently, all that time wandering in the desert wastes had caught up with him. And his training routine had fallen by the wayside in the last few months, mostly due to lack of motivation.

...Had she actually thought he was starving to death?

"The human was worried about me?" he muttered. Of course, hunger couldn't kill him anymore, but she hadn't known that. A human who was kind to him because she was concerned for his health… now that sounded like some sort of bad joke. He submerged himself in the cool, clean water, staring blankly at the hazy beams of sunlight that lanced beneath its surface.

Deep in his mind, a tiny little notion drifted above the others: would any Beastman have been as kind to a human if Lordgenome had won the war? The thoughts whirling through his head felt like a swarm of flies. He surfaced and smacked his fist against the water, forcing the thoughts away. The whole thing was starting to give him a headache and he wasn't much interested in considering it any longer.

Another year passed and Viral wandered onwards. He watched Kamina City grow and spread where Teppelin once stood. Of _course_ the naked apes would name it after that idiot. He stuck around the area for a while, mostly out of boredom, but partly from a sort of morbid curiosity.

Observing the city was bizarrely fascinating. Freed from their captivity, these humans were advancing at an almost alarming rate.

Two and a half years had gone by since the fall of Teppelin. It was another cold night in the high desert. Viral stared listlessly out through the open hatch of the cockpit, watching the moonlit sand and rocks roll past under Enkidudu's long stride. The Ganmen had been walking almost nonstop for nearly three days now… but it wasn't until that moment that Viral realized something: he didn't even know where he was going. He was literally wandering aimlessly.

"Damn it," he hissed, bringing his mecha to a halt. He growled and dropped his head, then took a deep breath, trying to regain his bearings. He let go of the controls and climbed out of the cockpit, scaling his Ganmen head until he stood atop its head.

The view from this height was spectacular. The desert stretched for miles all around him. To a human, it might have been deathly quiet; his sensitive ears picked up all sorts of sounds, though—the scratching of animals on the ground, the quiet rustle of a nightbird's wings. He tilted his head back, searching the expanse of the night sky.

He sat down on Enkidudu's head, his eyes still fixed on the stars as he wondered where exactly he was going. But then a better question rose up in his mind: rather than _where_ , he asked himself… why? What was the point of even picking a destination? He wouldn't do anything when he got there, except to eat, drink, and maybe get in a fight. And then he'd leave and wander aimlessly to the next town, where he'd repeat it all. He clenched and unclenched his massive, clawed hands, gritting his razor-sharp teeth.

Far up above him, the stars glittered coldly.

"What the hell am I here for?" he growled. The stars didn't give an answer.


	2. This Guy Is Definitely A Ganmen Expert!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wastelands are full of surprises... some of which are more aggravating than others. Viral's not a fan of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get this fic going. Let's roll!

_**Chapter 1: This Guy Is Definitely A Ganmen Expert!** _

It had been three years since the fall of Teppelin. Three years of wandering the wilderness. Three years of getting into fights, of getting killed and never staying dead. He had to admit, though, that it was amusing to see the looks on his opponents' faces when he shrugged off fatal wounds as though they were scratches. Even so, he was getting bored. There was only so many times a Beastman could watch his enemies' faces contort from malicious glee to wordless horror before even that simple delight began to lose its charm.

Did he have a destination in mind? No. Did he have a plan? No. At this point, he thought sourly, he barely remembered what having either of those even felt like.

Viral glared down at the glowing map on Enkidudu's data display. He was back in the wastelands again, nothing around for miles but craggy cliffs and cratered sand and mud. The nearest settlements were at least a day's journey away.

It was a good day for traveling, at least. Summer was coming, but the heat hadn't gotten too severe yet. He opened the cockpit, letting the warm breeze and fresh air in. It stirred the stale air around him and ruffled his hair, which was starting to get ragged and messy again. He'd have to trim it. He'd never have allowed it to get to this state three years ago, he thought with a stir of annoyance at himself.

He slouched down in the pilot's seat, teeth bared in a general state of annoyance at... well, everything. He had no reason to keep going, but also no reason to stay in one place. Moving forward at least gave him the illusion of having someplace to be, anyway. And so he kept going.

The next morning dawned as a less ideal day for traveling. The winds had picked up during the night, leading Viral to shut the cockpit to keep the dirt and grit out. And as Enkidudu trudged northwest, the winds just kept getting stronger.

Scanning the expanse of wasteland ahead, Viral spotted a dark streak on the horizon. He focused Enkidudu's visual display on it, zooming in: it was a towering dust storm, churning and roiling and picking up speed at a ferocious rate.

With a flick of one fingertip, he brought up a wider view on Enkidudu's map displays. There, still a day's walk ahead, was the marker for a former military outpost; he was entering what had once been the Far Western Theater of the war. Dust storms such as this could easily last for days, not to mention the havoc it would wreak on Enkidudu as the fine particles worked their way into the crevices between the Ganmen's armor plates.

Well, he didn't have many options. Changing direction wouldn't help; out here, on the vast flatlands, the dust storms could stretch for miles across. Even if he turned around and backtracked, the storm would catch up to him. There was no outrunning it. He'd head for the outpost, and hope he could reach it before the dust shut his mecha down.

Growling under his breath, Viral gripped the control handles and settled in for what promised to be a tense journey.

He hated to admit it, but he was almost glad.

* * *

Any minute now...

_There._

Viral was within comms range of the outpost. And not a second too soon, either: he could feel Enkidudu straining against the winds with each step.

His slight relief at the break in monotony hadn't lasted long- the thought of being stranded in the wastelands with a dust-choked Ganmen and only a basic toolkit for repairs had rather made him rethink the appeal of monotony.

Moving with the quick, decisive efficiency of long practice, he opened up a channel and searched for the outpost's frequency. He knew, of course, that the place might be deserted; with the disbanding of the military three years gone already, there was a reasonably high likelihood that no one was there to answer. He'd still head for the outpost regardless; even if the place was abandoned, he could at least blast his way in and wait for the storm to pass. In more ways than one, it'd be easier if the outpost _was_ deserted. Either way, it'd be best to know before he arrived.

The minutes ticked by with only static as a response to his scans, and then-

"Uh... hello?"

* * *

The comms signal that was beeping now had been silent for nearly three years. Shoji, on comms watch duty, stared in confusion at the blinking orange light for a few seconds before he came to his senses and lunged for the receiver contact.

"Uh, hello?" he ventured. Comms watch duty was almost always uneventful; it was more of a precaution at this point than anything else. And of course the one time something finally happened, it _would_ happen on Shoji's watch; he wasn't sure if he ought to be grateful or not.

Static crackled on the other end for a second, and then a garbled voice came back.

"-lo? -s this?"

"Huh? Um, I can't hear you very well," Shoji said nervously. "Can you try, uh, um... a different... channel...?" Damn it all, he didn't even really know the right terminology for this! Now he definitely wished this had happened on someone else's shift.

"Dust -orm... -st- ... -ermission to-"

Well, at least part of that he could figure out. "Dust storm? Did you say dust storm?!" Shoji echoed, alarmed. The dust storms in this area were as infamous as they were deadly. He hazarded a guess: "Hey, if you need shelter from the dust storm, come this way! We'll be ready for you!"

All he got in response was a burst of static. Hoping the message had gone through, Shoji grabbed the handheld comm on his belt.

"Hey, I need backup in the comms room!" he shouted.

* * *

Viral eyed the comms balefully. Whoever that had been, they either weren't former military, or they'd really gotten sloppy in the past three years.

It was possible, of course, that the outpost had been claimed by humans. He rarely ventured near human settlements, but it wasn't as if he had many choices at that particular moment. Either he took his chances with the outpost, humans or no humans, or he endured the storm out in the open and hoped the damage to Enkidudu wouldn't be too extensive.

"Damn it," he growled. He knew damn well he wasn't going to risk ruining his Ganmen. Granted, if humans _had_ occupied the outpost, he ran the risk of having the damn Ganmen commandeered. He'd be hemmed in by the outpost's walls, and outnumbered by the damned naked apes with their damned Spiral energy. Then again, this was a strange new world. Viral had long since given up trying to predict what the naked apes would do next.

Every step towards the outpost brought him further into the heart of the dust storm. Enkidudu's limbs were stiffening, mechanisms grinding and groaning under the strain. Viral ground his teeth, hands clenched on the controls.

"Just a bit further, Enkidudu," he muttered.

* * *

A crowd had amassed in the comms room. Rows of faces pressed in close together, awash in the green glow of the screens, and they stared with anxious concentration at the blip on the scanner, which blinked closer to their outpost with each sweep of the radar.

"So... who is this guy?" someone asked in a hushed voice.

"Don't know," Shoji whispered back. "With this dust storm, I could barely hear what he was saying. Sounded like he's in trouble out there, though."

"It's really just one guy out there, huh?"

"Guess so." Shoji hesitated, then glanced back over his shoulder at one particular face. "Hey, Katashi, um... I told him he could come here if he's in trouble out there, but is that really okay...?"

Katashi stroked his greying beard. "If this traveler is in trouble, then we ought to help him, if we can. If he brings trouble to our doorstep, we'll deal with it. We're well-armed here, after all."

"Guess we'll find out pretty soon if we're making a mistake or not," Shoji murmured. The blip on the screen blinked closer.

The wastes had been quiet and empty for weeks- months, even. It was rare to see travelers out this far, especially alone. And whenever anyone did pass by, it was usually scavengers, or a caravan of former undergrounders headed for Kamina City. But a single traveler? Out this far? Alone? Unheard of.

* * *

Finally, after hours of painstaking piloting, Viral was nearly at the outpost. The grinding of sand and dust in Enkidudu's mechanisms had his teeth on edge, but the Ganmen was still walking. No surprise there with a machine of this caliber; after all, Enki had once been one of the few Ganmen that Teppelin had ever seen fit to equip with a particle beam ring.

Just ahead, the outer wall of the outpost loomed through the swirling sand, an imposing, dark slab just barely visible in the haze. As he pushed Enkidudu along the last few agonizing steps to shelter, a flashing orange light glowed through the dust, and a vertical line of jet-black appeared through the haze as a massive set of outer doors began to open. Viral guided Enkidudu into the inky void within, and at last the howling winds subsided behind him.

He was in a spray-down chamber; out here in the wastes, where dust storms such as these were a regular occurrence, the last thing the military outposts had needed was patrols coming back and tracking sand and dust into their hangar bays. So most of them had chambers such as this, with high-powered air and water jets to blast the dust off of returning Ganmen.

An alarm rang out as the doors rumbled into place behind him, enclosing Enkidudu in silence and darkness, and Viral waited for the jets to start up. In the days of the military, there would've been someone standing by to start the jets as soon as the outer door closed.

A sheepish voice crackled over the comms. "Uh... wait just one moment, please!"

Swearing under his breath, Viral made a quick decision to trust his instincts; he dug his cloak out of its storage compartment and drew it about his shoulders, then grabbed his scarf and wound it loosely around his head, leaving only his eye visible.

The jets fired up, filling the chamber with a low hiss. Viral figured he had about two minutes to prepare.

Twisting to the side of the narrow cockpit, he unearthed his med-kit, long disused. Luckily, he hadn't gotten around to ditching it just yet. Inside were two rolls of bandages. Viral kept up a steady stream of swears as he hastily wrapped up his hands, winding the bandages around each finger separately so he'd at least retain some mobility.

He hated the idea of disguising himself like some kind of coward, but the alternative put him at a significant disadvantage as far as numbers went, and he'd rather risk losing his pride than his Ganmen.

Another alarm clanged out as the jets shut off. Viral tied off the second bandage right as the inner doors began to open. Well, there was nothing for it now. Resigning himself to whatever the outcome of this decision would be,Viral guided Enkidudu into the hangar bay.

A crowd had turned out for his arrival. From the bay floor to the repair scaffolds, curious faces watched him from every angle.

_Human_ faces. Sometimes, Viral thought sourly, there was no satisfaction in being right.

* * *

Perched high on a maintenance scaffold, Shoji eyed the inner doors of the spray-down chamber nervously. A yellow light flashed above the chamber; the spray-down was in progress, and soon the chamber would be opening to reveal their mystery traveler.

Next to him, a young woman sighed morosely and slumped against the railing of the scaffold. "Ah, man," she grumbled, "the one time something happens on comms watch and I missed it! And my shift was right before yours, too, Shoji!"

"Honestly, Aika, it probably would've been better if it _had_ been your shift," Shoji mumbled. "I didn't know what to do, if telling him to come here was the right decision-!"

Aika huffed and clapped his shoulder. "If it's a lone traveler in trouble, out there in the dust storm, then it was definitely the right decision!" she proclaimed. "You'll see, Shoji! You might've even saved this guy's life!"

Shoji straightened up, smiling tentatively. "Really? You think so?!"

"Yeah! Right, Chiyo?" Aika turned to the crimson-eyed girl next to her, who crossed her arms and nodded.

"Mm, right! Besides, we outnumber him. He tries to take advantage of our hospitality, we just kick him out," she said with a shrug.

And then the light above the door flashed green, a siren clanged out, and the two halves of the inner door began their laborious slide apart.

Next to Shoji, Aika leaned excitedly over the scaffold railing. "This is it, here we go! Let's see what kind of person travels alone in the wastes these days."

* * *

With the external comms switched on, Viral could hear the surprised and appreciative murmurs as the assembled crowd took in the sight of Enkidudu. Again, no surprise there; Enkidudu was a cut above the standard-issue Ganmen that the humans had been able to steal for themselves. Well, a cut above most of them... with one noteworthy exception.

Like a river around a stone, the crowd parted as he walked his limping Ganmen to the nearest scaffold. Once it was properly aligned, he powered Enkidudu down. The display screens shut off, the crowd of humans vanishing. Ensconced in the cockpit, Viral took a moment to collect himself. Then he swore under his breath, popped the cockpit hatch, and stepped out onto the scaffold.

* * *

Watching from their high perch, Shoji and his friends stared as the chamber door ground open and a four-armed Ganmen stepped out. Its white armor gleamed from the spray-down jets, but even at this distance, they could hear the grinding of machinery as its sand-clogged joints labored.

Next to him, Aika was all but hanging double over the railing.

"Four arms! Hey, hey, look! Chiyo, Shoji, four arms!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Careful, Aika, you're gonna fall off the scaffold!" Shoji fretted.

Aika snorted dismissively. "Nah, not gonna happen!"

Chiyo heaved an exaggerated sigh. "If she does, maybe the fall will knock some sense into that thick skull of hers."

"If I fall I'm takin' you with me, Chi'," Aika jibed.

And then the Ganmen settled into its scaffold. Silence fell over the hangar bay. A faint click and hiss, and the cockpit hatch opened. Aika leaned forward even more precariously, drawing in a sharp breath.

A lean, rangy figure shrouded in sand-brown rags stepped out of the cockpit. As he climbed down the scaffolding ladder, one lone man at ground level made his way to the front of the crowd- Katashi, their leader. The crowd parted obligingly, and Katashi reached the foot of the scaffold right as the stranger's boots thudded onto the hangar floor.

"Welcome, traveler!" Katashi said warmly. "I'm glad you were able to reach us. You're lucky, to have gotten as far as you did in that storm."

"It wasn't luck." The voice that rang out was sharp, somewhat deep, somewhat raspy, and not even remotely hesitant or uncertain. "Luck will never save you in a storm like that. Rely on luck, and you'll end up dead. It was piloting skill that brought me here." A murmur ran through the crowd. The stranger paused, then bowed his head slightly and said, "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Of course, of course! Welcome to Hajime Village- well, I say that, but I guess now it's the Hajime Outpost," Katashi said with a chuckle. "I am Katashi, the leader here. And who would you be?"

A pause, and then, "I am... no one."

Dead silence hung over the crowd for a long few seconds.

"W-well, all right! We'll just call you 'stranger', then," Katashi said with an awkward laugh.

"If I may, I wish to make use of your hangar bay to repair the damage to my Ganmen," the stranger said calmly. "I will depart when the storm passes. I won't ask much from you, aside from that. I have food stores, and-"

"Nonsense!" Katashi said. "If you're our guest then you're welcome to join us for meals! Come, we'll find a bunk for you."

The stranger started to protest, but was quickly swept along by Katashi. An excited murmur went up as the crowd followed, like a dam breaking and unleashing a river behind Katashi and their unwitting guest.

Shoji stood back from the railing and sighed. "Man, he seems pretty intense, huh?" No response. Turning, Shoji immediately saw the problem.

Aika stood gripping the railing, eyes fixed on the doorway where the crowd was now filtering out in the wake of their new arrival. Her face was flushed, her clenched knuckles bone-white, and she was all but vibrating on the spot.

"Uh oh," Chiyo said dryly. Aika whirled to face her, grasping the front of her coveralls and shaking her.

"This is it! This is definitely it!" Aika exclaimed. "This is my chance! I have so many questions! Did you see him?! The _confidence_ -!"

"More like arrogance," Chiyo remarked.

"Even better, if he has the skills to back it up! Don't you see?!" Now Aika spun to Shoji and gripped his shoulders, shaking him. Her vivid blue eyes sparkled with an eagerness that bordered on mania. "This guy... _this guy is definitely a Ganmen expert!_ "

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SENPAI SPOTTED. TARGET: LOCK ON.
> 
> Pffffff, anyway, see you guys in Chapter 2!


End file.
